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They don’t cuddle anymore.
No, there might as well be a great wall of pillows between them, a wall that Scott had built pillow by pillow all while staring Wallace intently in the eye as if to say Are you seeing this? This is how much I don’t want you near me. The centre of their bed stayed cold, each grasping at the furthest edge of the blanket possible, even if that meant sacrificing a leg to the chilly air beyond the sheets.
This was the result Wallace had been aiming for in a way. He could have done without the added extra of rejection and would have liked to have felt a little bit less used but he wasn’t in a position to be making any demands. The only request he was perhaps entitled to was asking Scott to leave, to finally move out. That would be the most justified thing to do, the easiest for him, but he couldn’t stomach the idea. He hadn’t wanted this in the first place but here they were.
Scott Pilgrim had kissed him, giving him a teasing glimpse of what they could be, of what Wallace had never seriously considered to be possible, only to rip it from his hands the next morning and stamp on it with a deceivingly cheery smile served with breakfast and a glass of orange juice on the side.
Those god-awful boundaries had been established at last, the straight man and the gay guy who happen to share a bed, do not cuddle at night, that would be ridiculous, especially as their relationship is strictly friendly, rigidly platonic. No huddling together, no wandering hands, and no soft kisses exchanged.
So it had rocked his confidence a little, kicked his ego down a notch, a soul-crushing nightmare turned reality that he had spent their entire friendship dreading and trying to avoid. But you know it was all in a day's work for a gay man who willingly let his straight best friend live with him, sleep in his bed and kiss him in such a way that he thought it actually meant something only to be rejected without even talking about what had happened. That was all perfectly standard. Wallace had had better weeks but it was all a part of the playbook. He should have read the manual. He was fine.
He was absolutely fine.
Hunky-dory as some nerds might say.
Maybe he'd been a little bit apprehensive in the face of change, after all the means didn't matter, the result was something he'd entirely expected, arguably even gone out of his way to ensure. He and Scott no longer cuddled. And if Wallace had his way they wouldn't even touch, no more of those pesky curious glances, no more casual contact. They wanted boundaries and Wallace was going to do boundaries properly, if that meant that he didn't drape his arm over Scott's shoulder anymore, brush a hand over his arm, or fix his mussed-up hair in the morning before Scott went out for the day, then that was an execution of boundaries.
He was taking this new status quo very seriously.
He hated every second of it.
The phone rang and Wallace paused, leaning back to peer around the fridge door, the carton of milk still dangling from his fingers. Scott didn’t look away from his game for the first few rings, to the extent that his roommate looming over in the kitchen frowned, wondering if he was going to bother picking it up at all.
Just before it rang out, Scott turned, grabbed the phone and held it between his ear and shoulder while he went back to his game, answering with a distracted “What?” Wallace rolled his eyes, depositing the milk back in the fridge door before slamming it shut. Typical.
“Heyyy, Carol!”
That made him freeze. He turned away from the counter where his coffee mug sat, a spoon of sugar hovering forgotten above it.
Carol.
Her name was Carol.
What was she, a forty-year-old woman working the register at Goodwill? Was Scott preying on the elderly now?
Wallace dropped the spoon into his mug with a clang, not angrily, no he wasn’t angry.
“Really? Yeah, yeah I’ll be there. I’m just putting my shoes on.”
He spun around once again at that because now Scott Pilgrim was running out the door for her? That was practically unheard of. But then again that claim of Scott’s had been completely false; He was not, in fact, putting his shoes on because it was worse than that, he was already reaching for his coat while trying to extend the phone cord as far as it would go.
The smile that stretched his friend's lips was sickening, Wallace's face twisted so he turned around, back to his almost forgotten coffee.
Scott was laughing, god, Wallace wanted to pour coffee into his ears. “Y’know I just learnt this cool new fact about Street Fighter, you’ll never guess what it is.”
Forget sugar. Wallace was reaching for the bottle of whisky.
It didn’t usually bother him so much, well, it had bothered him immensely when it came to she-who-shall-not-be-named. But other than that Wallace had never really cared, not when Scott had briefly dated random girls throughout college, not when he’d swapped spit far too desperately with that one girl at Julie's birthday party last year, no, Wallace had never given any of Scott’s flings the time of day or spared them a thought unless they were stood in front of him. At least, that's what he’d always thought. Maybe it was the timing of it which coincided a little too harshly with the recent rejection, maybe it was the fact that this was the first woman Scott had gone out with seemingly seriously, for more than one date since the E-word.
And then there was the question of why Wallace hadn’t met her. Scott always introduced his girlfriends to Wallace. But maybe he’d lost that privilege when he revealed himself to not just be Scott’s cool gay roommate, but his roommate who was gay for Scott, maybe that wasn’t so cool anymore.
Scott’s tone of voice was suddenly a little less cheery, although he still laughed. “Yeah, but everyone knows what Street Fighter is!”
Wallace huffed a laugh, shaking his head. If Scott wanted someone who knew anything about video games and their trivia he shouldn’t have been dating some geriatric pensioner.
“Sure. Yeah, cool.”
He moved from the kitchen to their living room/bedroom with his coffee mug in hand, settling himself back into the armchair like he did every morning. Yes, he noticed the way Scott turned away, he tilted his head the other way so as to avoid making eye contact, Wallace resented that. Maybe he shouldn't have been staring but what can a guy be expected to do when his painfully hetero crush was standing right in front of him in his stupid scuffed shoes, nerdy ass parka, black jeans that definitely belonged to Wallace and that hat that Wallace hated, all while being all coy and giggly over the phone with some girl.
If he didn't stare he wouldn't be doing his duty.
Crossing his legs – “Okay, I'll be there in fifteen minutes tops!” – he quietly blew on his coffee.
And then Scott walked back over to the armchair and placed the phone back on the receiver, keeping his eyes trained on it longer than necessary. Wallace looked up at him silently waiting to see what he would do.
Finally, Scott glanced at him but just as quickly he was looking away and moving towards the door. “I'm heading out,” he said, neither enthusiastically nor awkwardly. He just said it.
Wallace sipped his coffee and hummed, early morning alcohol warmed his bitter soul. The door closed and all Wallace could find the energy to do was laugh because that was all he got, a single glance.
Wallace may have been slightly drunk even before making it to the venue but who was to say. People liked drunk Wallace better anyway, drunk Wallace was fun Wallace and who didn't want that. At least someone would be happy around Wallace that night because it wasn't Scott fucking Pilgrim that's for sure. A conversation from earlier that day replayed over again in his mind.
“He kissed me, you know?”
“You don't say?” Other Scott's intrigued tone echoed over the phone.
Wallace shook his head with a sharp smile that he knew Other Scott couldn't see. “And now he's snubbing me.”
He'd been drunk already when he made that call, he was never going to admit to anything that pathetic while sober. He wasn't one of those stuck-up, emotionally mature bastards who claimed you could come to terms with anything if you just put your mind to it. No, fuck that. Wallace had his moments but this wasn't one of them. It was so much easier to pick up a bottle and let his emotions marinate inside him. Like a giant sarcastic pickle. He was a god-damned gherkin.
Wow, tequila was bad for him.
When he arrived at the bar, if it weren't for one Stacey Pilgrim who called at him from across the room the minute he entered the building, he would have made a beeline for the sticky counter he liked to call home.
“Wallace!”
The void in his gut dedicated to the pursuit of liquor could stand to be predominantly empty for a moment longer while Wallace reinstated himself as a loveable and social being.
“Hello there, my favourite Pilgrim.” He cooed, sliding into the chair beside her. She grinned at him and that was the warmth that he was craving. “No boyfriend?” he asked casually but no sooner had he said the word boyfriend than Stacey was eyeing him suspiciously.
“I didn't bring him.” She snapped but there was no real bite to it, Wallace didn't mind so much, he'd earned it after all.
Even so, he smiled innocently. “Why ever not?”
“You know why.” Oh, he did. It had been great fun.
He played along. “That happened once, and besides, he’s hooking up with Other Scott now. I renounce responsibility.”
“That makes me feel so much better,” she said sarcastically, not that Wallace was going to bother picking up on it.
“It’s because I’m such a great friend.” he supplied in a drawn-out manner, reaching his hand across the table for her glass which she promptly slapped away.
“No, Wallace! You passing on my ex-boyfriend, who you stole, onto another one of your hookups does not make me feel better!”
It was a good exercise for her, he was teaching her to manage her expectations. In his experience, men were the worst.
He shrugged, more occupied with detangling her fingers from around the glass she was protecting more aggressively than was strictly necessary. “Make your mind up Stacey, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”
Stacey shook her head at him, finally caving and shoving the glass towards him. “How about you don’t steal my boyfriends!” That threat would have carried more weight if she’d announced it before handing over her drink.
“Sure.” he conceded with a placating smile. “Unless they have glasses,” he muttered into her glass.
Across the room, he caught sight of Stephen Stills talking with the sound guy and looking his usual flustered and panicky self and it occurred to him that he didn’t know at exactly what time they were due to start playing. Not that it mattered, he was here anyway.
Scott had given him some passing comment about their gig that night but he hadn’t given a time. Wallace suspected he’d only been told because he always went to Sex Bob-ombs gigs and was one of their only frequent supporters, not because his presence was actually all that important. He didn’t dwell on that too much.
He and Scott were alright, things weren't awkward, they still talked, they still slept in the same bed and still lived together with no incident. Things were not awkward. So maybe both of them spent a little bit more time away from the apartment than they used to, and maybe they were both a little bit more engrossed in their own respective activities than they had been before. But they were still best friends after all.
A part of him wouldn’t have been surprised if Scott found a way to avoid him as much as he could but just as the thought crossed his mind Stacey spoke up beside him.
“Hello, little brother.”
“Hey, Stacey…” The older Pilgrim mumbled unenthusiastically.
“You guys excited?” Stacey asked, except that Scott wasn’t paying much attention, instead he was giving Wallace a strange look which was a first, he hadn’t been looked at for longer than a few seconds lately. Wallace stared back blankly. If this was a contest he was going to win, except that Stacey chose that moment to cut in. “Scott?”
Shaking his head, Scott answered his sister, “Oh, yeah. Yeah, we’re pumped,” he replied while scanning the bar and looking distinctly unexcited.
This stunted sort of conversation was how they’d been since Julie’s party and it was fucking awful. Wallace didn’t know if Scott was like this all the time, this new subdued Scott who was neither cheery nor obnoxious. At least he wasn’t sure if his friend was this way in all conversations in which Wallace was either involved or in proximity, or whether he was suddenly his usual self when his roommate wasn’t around. He didn’t know which of those scenarios sounded better, not that either of them could be described in a favourable sense.
“Scott, where’s this girlfriend of yours? Is she coming tonight?” He’d never wished for Stacey’s nosiness to eradicate itself from her personality before but there was a first for everything.
Her older brother snapped his head to her, “She’s not my girlfriend yet.” quick to correct her.
“Yet?” that smug smile of hers wasn’t providing him with that usual jolt of mean delight that it usually did. This week was disappointment after disappointment.
“Oh–kay…” Wallace slapped the table lightly with both palms. That was his queue to make his escape, preferably towards the bar. Thankfully neither Stacey nor Scott said anything, the former not even blinking and if his roommate had any thoughts on his suspiciously timed departure he was in no position to comment on it. Frankly, Wallace didn’t care. Why should he.
This fucking sucked.
He’d never thought cutting ties with a friend abruptly was the best thing to do – emphasis on friend because this was otherwise something he did semi-frequently with flings who got over-attached – but now that he was being faced with the torturously slow hazing out that he honestly hadn’t ever expected to be on the receiving end of, Wallace was sure he would have preferred the quickest and most painless method. If this friendship was caving in on itself he would have liked something a little more dramatic, something a little more reminiscent of a classic crash and burn.
Bitterly he thought to himself that beggars can’t be choosers. He certainly wasn’t going to beg anytime soon, even if the twisting in his gut screamed at him otherwise. No, he and Scott’s friendship was going to fade quietly into the background, with any hope that’s where it would stay. He wasn’t sure he could cope with the idea of it vanishing completely.
He needed a drink. Something with a warm aftertaste.
And a garnish.
The bar wasn't crowded, not as it should be when a popular band was playing but it wasn't a bad turnout, there were at least enough people there that Wallace could be sure that Stephen Stills was backstage losing his shit. So he supposed he was happy for them.
Unfortunately for him, a decent turnout meant that he couldn't immediately get close to the bar but it gave him time to survey the room around him in case there was anyone he knew or anyone he wanted to know. It was only when a hoard of women holding more drinks than they could possibly need, moved away from the bar that he could get close enough to come eye-to-eye with the bartender. The bartender who, on an unrelated note, had glasses.
He plastered on a smile. “Martini, please.”
He received a polite nod in response as well as a look that Wallace was all too familiar with. “Excited to hear the band play?” The man asked him and Wallace had to hold back from rolling his eyes.
Leaning on the counter, he rested his face in the palm of his hand. “Nope, they're ear-bleedingly mediocre.”
“Oh?” He had a nice smile. Wallace's own flirtatious leer grew.
And then he was being handed a Martini with a little twist of lemon peel, slid over the bar slowly, the barman's hand lingering longer than necessary as Wallace picked up the glass, their fingers brushing. He stayed by the bar even though most people usually walked away by then, taking a sip as he glanced around him, he drew the glass away from his lips and grinned back at the object of his attention, blue eyes enclosed by golden frames.
“That's good .” He appraised and raised his eyebrows as he had another sip to prove his point. “A man after my heart.”
The man in question leaned over the bar, a toothy smile tugging at his lips. Oh, he was definitely neglecting other customers but Wallace was all too happy to keep distracting him “If you liked that, you should come try some of my experimental concoctions sometime.”
“And I suppose,” Wallace tilted his head, having another sip just to enjoy the way the other man watched his mouth. “that I'd have to go home with you to try those, right?”
“That's right.”
Wallace hummed thoughtfully before inevitably raising his hand over the bar for the other to take. “Wallace.” he supplied, knowing that the other man had been wanting to know his name for a while.
Taking his hand and shaking it gently, “Mark.” Mark smiled, a lovely flush to his cheeks.
“Well, Mark . I'll have to come by and find you later.”
“Please do,” he confirmed with another smile that had Wallace all excited.
He left the bar, knowing when to draw the line under a good thing to revisit it later. First, he would make his way back to the table where Stacey was keeping him a seat, he’d probably be back later for another top-up.
He hadn't done this in a while and he'd missed it, missed how good he was at it. The thrill had always been intoxicating and in this case not just because he'd met a man who knew how to supply him with a proper martini; vodka, vermouth, shaken . Wallace wouldn't have minded being shaken a little, later that night, in fact, he was already fairly sure that he'd be taking Mark up on that offer.
God, why hadn't he done this in so long.
“Wallace.”
Ah, that was why.
Turning to Scott, he swirled his glass to occupy himself some. “Speaking,” he chimed. His roommate hadn't addressed him directly all too often lately.
Scott was scowling that Scott scowl and fidgeting manically. Wallace didn’t know what to make of it anymore, he’d always known Scott fairly well, assumed he’d known him well enough to understand his actions, what he would do next, or how to keep himself out of the way of Scott’s path of chaos. But he just didn’t know anymore. Wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.
“I need you real quick,” Scott spoke, an awkward frown on his face that Wallace hated, up until now Scott hadn’t looked at him like it pained him. At least they’d had that. Awkward exchanges but never anything unbearable. He gulped at his martini to try and drown out any heavy feelings. But even so, he followed.
Glancing behind him as he led them to the other side of the room to make sure Wallace was following him, the already drunk man wanted to laugh.
Of course, Wallace was following him. Fucking , of course. He thought to himself that while he was at it he could learn to sit, return to heel, and roll over.
They went through the nearby emergency exit which opened up into the back alley and as he glanced around at the nearby dumpster Wallace thought he really should have left his drink inside. Regretfully, he wondered if this was the moment they reached their limit, where Scott told him that they couldn’t do this anymore, that he wanted Wallace to go home because it was just too weird to have him there, supporting him at their gigs. Maybe this was the moment Scott finally told him he was moving out, no longer going to mooch off of Wallace and instead going to live with his old-ass girlfriend. With Carol . What a bitch. And they had to have this conversation now, next to a fucking gross dumpster and a smashed beer bottle because they were in the back alley behind some unpopular bar that Wallace never went to because they played shitty music, and the people were shitty – except maybe Mark – and Scott Pilgrim was shitty for doing this here, and hands were cupping his face and–
He was being kissed. Wetly and desperately. His arms were up by his sides, shocked because Scott was kissing him. The absolute bastard.
“Sco–” he gasped out, pushing his roommate back a little with the single hand that wasn’t precariously holding a glass, only to be met with insistence. “ Scott !” He scolded, holding him at arm's length so that could level him with the furious look he deserved. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” the other man panted, cheeks rosy and lips glossy.
Jesus. Wallace suddenly realised that he hadn’t seen this last time. Hadn’t been able to see the blown-out eyes and the flushed skin and Wallace hated Scott for depriving him of that, for showing him that. It was one thing to imagine that look, it was another thing to see it, to be faced with it and have it ingrained in his memory forever.
Wallace Wells knew what Scott looked like after he’d been kissed and that pained him.
Clearing his throat, Wallace shook his head angrily. “It looks like you forgot that you rejected me because you have a girlfriend .”
“I want you though.” Scott shot back and wasn’t that a difficult thing to decipher because Scott didn’t want him, he wanted him . He was fucked if he knew the difference in that moment but there was a difference and it was important.
Wallace stared.
Was he this pathetic?
Was he really this fucking pathetic.
That look was going to be the end of him. Why did Scott have to say it so earnestly, say it like that. While having the gall to look at him like that . Wallace had seen that look on more men than he cared to count or even remember. He’d said before that he’d rue the day Scott Pilgrim stared at him with want, held him as though he wanted nothing more than for Wallace to be close. He was rueing that shit now.
He stared back, and with one sharp inhale and a disbelieving shake of his head, “...Fuck it.”
He threw an arm around Scott's neck, his other arm carefully stretched out with his martini glass in hand. Wallace Wells was a man with priorities.
It wasn’t soft or gentle. Scott’s hands were sliding up his sides, slipping under his jumper and tugging his shirt out of his jeans and, shit, those were cold palms on hot skin prickled by a sudden shiver. Pulling him closer, Wallace groaned, lips and tongue and hair he could brush his fingers through and fuck he was going to savour it the way he’d thought he’d savoured it the last time. All too soon Scott was pulling away and Wallace loathed him.
“Put that down, I want you touching me,” Scott whispered against his lips. His fingers pried at Wallace’s gently until he let go of his glass, his almost forgotten martini vanished from his grasp and his sight all too quickly because then his hands were being guided into familiar mussed-up hair. He was gaping. His mind was spazzing out, how could it not, Jesus Christ.
So he tugged, because that’s what Scott wanted, he wanted him to tug on his hair and just like that his roommate was gasping and smiling at him from where he’d pulled back and Wallace wouldn’t have gone as far as saying he was devastated by the sight in front of him but a soberer Wallace would have had the presence of mind to say something cleverer like Look at you, guy or even Aren’t you enjoying this in a slightly degrading tone. But none of that sprung to mind because Wallace was drunk off his ass and Scott was there, cheeks warm and a flush creeping down his craned neck, lips kissed red and smiling like he’d done something clever, and looking at Wallace like he praying for more.
“ Fuck , Scott.” he stuttered. What was he supposed to…
Scott’s thumbs were rubbing circles into his waist under his shirt. Suddenly something seemed to occur to himself because his thick brows were dipping low, creasing together and Wallace didn’t like the look of it.
“Don't go home with that guy,” Scott pleaded, and damn Wallace’s day was really panning out better than he could have ever hoped for.
Oh , so he’d heard that then had he?
Grinning, he leaned forward to place a leisurely kiss on Scott's lips, the fingers of his right hand dipping just under the edge of his friend's shirt collar over the back of his shoulder and Scott surged forward for more, the hands on his waist dancing up to his back and pulling Wallace forward until they stood chest to chest. Wallace drew away, huffing a silent laugh at Scott’s petulant splutter. “Why shouldn't I?” he asked with a teasing smile. Part of him wanted to, just to see what Scott would do. What would the bastard do if he was the one to be rejected.
Scott was frowning, a lost look on his face that Wallace hadn’t been expecting and he couldn’t help himself, he kissed him again, hands stroking over his face and smoothing away all of those pesky lines. Wallace was a simpering jackass but just then as if there were indeed a god, and that god had finally heard his plight, Scott was whispering soft words to him between quick kisses to his lips, “Please.” to his jaw, “Wallace.” to the side of his neck. “ Please .”
Wallace really ought to rethink his stance on atheism given the circumstances because Jesus fuck he was being blessed with something.
His unwavering faith was irritatingly short-lived.
Despite the fact he’d earned this, had been messed up by Scott Pilgrim with seemingly no consolidation prize in sight, he had this and he’d fucking earned it. But despite that, it didn’t last forever, reaffirming that there was not a god.
Scott pulled away, a wide-eyed scowl on his face and Wallace's heart sank because he'd done it to himself again, but then he turned to look at where Scott was staring at the emergency exit door they'd slipped through, held open by a brick stopping it from shutting completely.
With that he recognized the background noise that was no longer the usual chattering and clinking glasses that were standard in a bar, instead, it was quiet murmurs and hushed snickers as someone shouted angrily through the microphone.
“SCOTT PILGRIM.” Wallace grinned. “GET YOUR ASS ON STAGE.” He downright cackled.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Scott whispered, stepping away from Wallace and rubbing at his face, peering through the cracked door towards the stage.
Wallace doesn't even care, he leant against the wall and jerked with silent laughter at his roommate's expense. The pout directed at him, clearly asking for his sympathy, did nothing to change his tune and just like that Scott was agitatedly swinging open the door and dashing towards the stage while Wallace failed to collect himself.
“SCOTT!” He always knew that Kim was one of his favourites. “PILGRIM.”
Within seconds Kim's intro to their songs echoes through the microphone followed by the familiar uproar of instruments.
He needed to stay right where he is for a second because Jesus, fuck.
Fuck . Scott Pilgrim wants him.
He'd already learned his lesson, he wouldn't believe it that easily. But despite his better judgement he huffed a quiet disbelieving laugh and smiled to himself.
God, he's never going to stop hoping, is he?
It took him a moment but he did eventually make it back towards the table Stacey was single-handedly holding down for them and even more impressively, with a chair she’d kept empty for Wallace, he couldn’t imagine how many people she’d fended off.
“Where were you?” Stacey shouted over the sound of the music, obviously caring as little about Scott's band as Wallace does – that didn’t negate the fact that they were both there being supportive.
He shook his head, drinking from the glass he'd had Mark happily refill for him on his way back to the table. “Scott needed a pep talk.”
She snorted. “A good luck kiss knowing you.” All Wallace could do was grin. Stacey Pilgrim was a smart smart girl. “The pair of you sorted your– whatever , out then?”
Wallace gave her a questioning look and he got in return was a shrug. “You guys were being weird, and not your normal kind of weird.”
That was one way to put it.
He didn’t know what it was – it was the alcohol – but that night Sex Bob-omb actually didn’t seem too bad. He wouldn’t have gone as far as saying he enjoyed it but there was no doubt that once Stephen Stills was off he did manage to thoroughly embody the title of The Talent. Aside from the music that surprisingly seemed to have a solid rhythm to it for this set – so much so that Wallace caught himself drumming his fingers against the table – what he enjoyed the most was probably the array of disgruntled looks that Kim was shooting Scott’s way. He particularly liked how his roommate continued to avoid her gaze, only to accidentally look at the pissed-off redhead staring him down, which would then lead to him throwing his whole body the other way and almost knocking over his microphone stand, only just playing it off by coincidentally getting really into his baseline. The time the microphone actually did hit the stage was the moment Wallace clapped the loudest all night, barely dissuaded by Stacey’s hiss to sit down as she tugged at his sleeve.
He knew he was being an idiot, of course he did. The fact that Scott had dragged him to some secluded corner just to grope him after having spent too long only just acknowledging his existence was a painfully obvious series of bad signs backed up by poor choices. But Wallace Wells was his own special breed of idiot, a master of poor choices and the list of things he wouldn't do was disappointingly short.
Maybe if he wasn't sipping on such an excellent martini – which was sitting nicely on top of half a bottle of tequila – maybe, he'd be more cautious.
Because he fucking should be. Scott Pilgrim had done very little to prove himself to be reliable over the years, Wallace couldn't remember the last time he'd been sure Scott was someone he could count on but none of that mattered.
He couldn't shake it.
Couldn't shake the way Scott had looked at him and said those words so earnestly. I want you.
What topped it all was that his bastard of a roommate, who'd kissed him, rejected him, ignored him, did all that just to kiss him again.
Clapping sounded around him and if it hadn’t been for Stacey applauding politely beside him it wasn’t out of the question that it would have gone over Wallace’s head but he wasn’t that far gone. Looking over at the stage it became apparent that the set had ended much quicker than Wallace could even comprehend but that was much to do with his own current perceptions than the actual duration of the set. Stephen was standing there giving the appreciative thankful speech while looking a little shocked, a little mesmerised that it was over. Scott was basking in it and grinning – Wallace didn’t miss the look shot his way so he made a point of showing that he was clapping properly, supportively – and Kim was already marching off stage with her drumsticks in hand.
Thank fuck, they’d be able to leave soon, he was ready to sit in a chair that wasn’t solid wood or wobbly, or a shower to get rid of that sticky bar feeling, maybe just his bed, probably all three. The bottom line is that it was other soon and if Stacey hadn’t pointed out the necessary etiquette of waiting for the band to appear following their set so that they could be congratulated, maybe even receive a free drink or two, Wallace would have already made his way to the door usually with some guy in tow.
And as if on queue.
“Hey, Wallace?” a vaguely familiar voice interrupted his conversation.
He looked away from Stacey who’d been telling him something truly fascinating about one of her and Julie’s coworkers – that wasn’t sarcasm, Wallace was legitimately interested in the drama surrounding some girl named Christy whose boyfriend had been coming into the coffee shop and ordering Iced Caramel Machiatto’s with almond milk which definitely weren’t for Christy because (here's the twist) Christy was allergic to almonds . Wallace had hobbies , he wasn’t just a sarky prick. That’s when he came face to face with someone he was sure he’d already met. Obviously, because he knew Wallace's name.
Squinting his eyes, Wallace stared up at the surprisingly pleasant-looking man before him, before his face split into a grin. “Sorry, Mark , was it?” he asked in what he hoped was a charming manner but he’d had a lot to drink so who knew, Stacey would almost certainly enlighten him to the reality of his drunken state in the morning. “As you can see – you're a bartender so you would know – I'm, a bit, drunk right now so I'm not sure I can be making these kinds of decisions.”
If he’d planned ahead or could remember why he was turning the lovely, lovely man giving him his attention down, he’d be all over all of this. However, the consequences of his prior actions seemed to have other ideas.
“And– his roommate should probably take him home!” A deceivingly bold voice declared.
Wallace looked over his shoulder and surprisingly, there was Scott, looking as needy as ever and oddly defensive. With raised brows, Wallace slowly spun back around in his chair, returning his gaze to the lovely-looking bartender who was already giving Wallace a look he was too drunk to be bothered to decipher.
“Roommate, huh?” Mark asked, an unusually stoic expression twisting his features in such a way that Wallace had yet to see. He wondered how many men he'd never truly seen the face of because he'd exclusively seen them in a flirty context. Mark was a lot less interesting to look at when he wasn't being coy
Oh , he got it now.
Wasn't that the funniest little thing.
Humming, he smiled innocently up at the man whose number he really should have tried to get before they ran into Scott. “M’yes. Roommate.” he agreed. Roommate .
Chuckling quietly to himself in a way that probably convinced everyone around him that he had, in fact, had much more to drink than he was letting on, Wallace remembered Scott's words. Stop letting them think I'm your boyfriend . Oh, the irony.
Mark, sadly, was not impressed by the display – nor by Scott's attempt at an imposing presence – and had promptly vanished somewhere amongst the crowd. What a shame.
Scott, still standing behind him, placed both palms on Wallace's shoulders, bracketing him in from above and squeezing lightly. Wallace tilted his head all the way back, his neck craned to stare up at his roommate, his spiky black hair flopped back. Upside down he couldn’t tell what kind of look Scott was giving him but based on the fact that he was here, chasing off guys who wanted Wallace's attention, he hoped that it was a nice look.
He decided that maybe, what he was seeing through a drunken haze, was some kind of smile and if he wasn't imagining things then it was a sweet one. “I'm taking you home,” Scott told him quietly and it took Wallace a moment to reconcile the words he'd heard with the way Scott's lips moved.
He lifted a hand to wag his finger at Scott naughtily but the angle was all wrong. “Don't say things you don't mean, guy.” The point probably got across.
“Not like that, Wallace.” Scott practically whined.
“You can keep dreaming.” Wallace declared boldly. Knowing full well that that was a lie, it didn't matter where he was or what he was doing, if Scott Pilgrim told him at that moment that he wanted to take Wallace home so that he could do all sorts of fun things to him, he would almost certainly drop everything.
He should have more dignity than that, shouldn't he.
He used to think he was special because he was a bit of a slut who had some degree of dignity. Staring up at Scott through his lashes Wallace began to doubt that initial belief.
He hummed to himself, he was tired as shit.
When did the night become so tediously long.
There's some talk of an after-party but no one stops them when they make to leave, the closest they come to being held back a while longer is when Stacey came to say goodbye and Wallace decided at that moment that he didn’t show her enough appreciation and amended this by throwing his arms around in a true act of platonic love, not at all like the total shit show he's got going on with her brother.
He was totally going to steal more of her boyfriend's, she would never see it coming.
“Hey, the roles are reversed! Last time you were the one dragging me home drunk.” Scott told him this while laughing, as though it was meant to be a funny little thing, but it didn't even make him crack a smile because instead, it made him think which isn't something he's too fond of doing when he's in this state of mind.
Uh-huh. That's true.
Wallace turned his head to face him slowly as Scott continued to trudge them along, down the street hopefully in the direction of the shithole they called home. He narrowed his eyes at him. Right. The parallels here were not sitting well with him. Not at all.
With a scowl, Wallace braced himself. Big Talk Two Point Oh.
He detached himself messily from Scott, causing the other to yelp as he stumbled dangerously close to the edge of the sidewalk and into the gutter only for Wallace to turn on him and grab him by the flaps of his coat, pulling him forward until their faces were just a few inches apart.
Scott's cry of surprise quickly morphed into a gasp, his concern mounting as he was faced with the glower of one incredibly drunk gay roommate.
No more messing around.
“Are we doing this?” Wallace demanded, in possibly the most sober tone of voice he'd managed all evening, his hot breath turning to steam between them in the cold night air.
Winter-touched fingers quickly came up to wrap around his wrists as he held Scott firmly. Shock painted over Scott's features but surprisingly not without understanding.
Scott, ignorant and oblivious as he was, knew exactly what the importance of this was, something Wallace was glad for because he really didn't want to have to spell it out to him. Frowning thoughtfully, as though he didn't want to say anything he didn't mean. “I… I think I want us to.”
He wanted to hold his breath, wanted to bask in Scott's words but he needed more, he owed it to himself to ask for more.
Wallace shook his head. Not good enough.
The cold air had hit him hard and away from the stifling and crowded warmth of the bar, away from the sound and the people, and away from the safety of a public space where Wallace could pretend his home life wasn't in some form of shambles, where Scott was just some guy in a band and not the boy Wallace had been fawning over for years. Out in the cold, away from all of it, the shit storm he'd condemned himself to was all too obvious and this time he was doing it right. Or as right as either of them – in all of their stunted emotional glory – could manage.
Wallace was alone with Scott again and they were going home together. This scene was all too familiar and as willing as Wallace was to just let things happen and see where they'd go, he wasn't falling for that one again.
A humourless smile quirked his lips and he couldn't help but shake Scott just the once to get his point across.
“Figure it out quickly guy, because you're not doing that to me again. You get that?”
He wanted this, god he wanted this but he couldn't let himself be put through the ringer again. Once was enough, years of silently tormenting himself only for Scott Pilgrim to slap him in the face was enough.
So he stared at Scott with as much intensity as he could muster, and with years of tension constantly itching under his skin that wasn't a difficult thing for him to do. If he hadn't already been satisfied by the look of dismay and, dare he say it, guilt on his friend's face, then his keen agreement was all he needed.
Nodding vigorously. “I got it,” Scott whispered.
And Wallace cracked, a grin splitting his face and he was tugging Scott into him, their lips meeting easily because of course, Scott the single-minded fucker had been waiting for this.
“I promise, okay? I promise,” Scott whispered between kisses, chilled fingers cupping his face and brushing into his hair.
God, please.
Wallace desperately wanted to believe him.